Love Wild and Fair (40 page)

“Y-yes, Francis.” Her voice shook slightly.

“Dinna grieve, love. Ye’ll be safe wi Glenkirk,” he said. And then he drew her into his arms, and for the last time took possession of the mouth he loved so much. She melted against the hardness of him, her whole body protesting their fate. Neither of them had ever realized that a kiss could be so sweet They clung to one another until an urgent voice pierced their awareness.

“My lord! My lord! We must hurry. Tis dawn, and the tide will soon be against us.”

Reluctantly he pulled away, but his deep-blue eyes never left her leaf-green ones. “Farewell, my beloved,” he said softly.

“Go safely, my dearest lord,” she answered.

He turned and, hurrying across the sand, stepped into the little boat

“Francis!”

He turned to find her running to the boat, and caught her outstretched hands. “I love ye, Bothwell! There was never
anyone
else but ye. There never will be!”

He smiled gently at her. “I know, Catriona. I always knew. Now, my darling, gie me a smile. Let me see but once more the smile that enslaves me.”

It was terribly difficult, but as the boat moved away and their hands were pulled apart, she smiled radiantly at him, and caught his last words coming over the hiss of the waves. “I will love ye forever, Catriona Mairi!”

She stood on the damp sand in the chill of the April morning watching the cockleshell skim across the waves to the ship. She saw him climb safely aboard, and watched as the anchor was hoisted. The sails filled quickly and the ship began to move slowly away. She stood looking after it until her eyes burned, and the ship was no longer even a speck in the distance. She was unaware of the waves lapping over her boots.

Suddenly she heard a familiar voice say quietly, “Come, madame! It is time for ye to go home.”

She turned to face her husband, and his eyes were slivers of ice. Reaching out, he roughly pulled her cloak aside, and his gaze disdainfully raked her rounding belly. The force of his blow sent her to her knees. Arms clutched protectively about her body, she looked defiantly up at him.

“Hurt his bairn, and as God is my witness, I will go after him! Then ye may contend wi James Stewart by yerself!”

Pulling her roughly to her feet, he snarled at her, “I let ye whore wi yer lover, but I will nae claim his bastard! When ye’ve birthed it, it goes!”

“Then I go too, Patrick,” she shouted back at him. “Had ye protected me from the king’s attentions I should have remained yer good and faithful wife. But ye did not protect me, and I fell in love wi Francis. Now I must live the rest of my life alone, apart from my love. But I hae his bairn, and I will nae allow ye to take it from me! Ye must kill me first! If ye try to steal my child, I will take it and go after him!” Her voice was rising steadily. “I have been forced to sacrifice my happiness, and his own, for the damned Leslies! Now ye would try to take the one living memory I have of Francis? Christ! I hate ye! I hate ye!”

Angrily he caught her by the arm, and his fingers hurt her cruelly. “Control yerself, madame,” he said softly through gritted teeth. “There is no need to inform the entire district of our differences. We will continue this discussion at Glenkirk.”

She pulled away from him. “There is nothing to discuss, Patrick.” She began climbing the path to the top of Rattray Head, where her horse waited patiently. It was then she realized that the Gordons had gone, and Leslies stood in their place. A sudden weariness overcame her, and she would have stumbled but for Patrick Leslie’s strong hand beneath her arm.

“Keep moving, madame. ‘Twould not do for Lord Bothwell’s brave and bonnie whore to fall on her beautiful face now. We are riding straight through to Glenkirk.”

“That’s almost three days from here,” she protested.

“Aye,” he answered grimly.

“Ye’ll nae kill me, or the bairn, Glenkirk! I’ve ridden the borders wi him.”

He said nothing, but helped her to mount She was exhausted physically and emotionally, and needed rest But he would stop only briefly, to rest the horses and allow his men to relieve themselves. With each mile she grew whiter. At one point Conall spoke up. “God’s mercy, sir! Yer going to kill her for sure. Let her rest!”

But before Patrick could answer she spoke up. “No! We go straight through to Glenkirk!”

He shot her an angry look. “I make those decisions,” he said.

“Go to hell, Glenkirk,” she replied evenly, and spurred her horse ahead.

When they finally reached Glenkirk Castle she accepted his help dismounting, then walked alone to her apartments, where she collapsed on the floor.

She never knew that it was Patrick alone who cared for her in her delirium but he learned again from her fevered ravings how terribly he, James, and even Bothwell had hurt her. She relived it all, and sitting by her side he was forced to share it all. For a time she was back in the early days before their marriage, when she had shyly given him her innocence and then angrily fought him for her rights.

Far more shocking than he was prepared for was the sudden and intimate knowledge of what the king had done to her. Hearing her plead against performing the perversions that James had forced her into sickened him. And then he found himself reliving the rape through her eyes. Weeping bitterly, she sat straight up in their bed and, staring at him with sightless eyes, held out her hands to him—begging him not to shame her. He was devastated.

But the most painful experience of all for Patrick Leslie that night was to hear once more of her love for Bothwell. When she spoke of him, her face became a totally different face from the one he had always loved. It was a far more beautiful face—serene and mature. That she and Bothwell adored each other was obvious, and he who had loved her since she was a child ached to learn that only Francis Stewart-Hepburn’s love could satisfy Cat.

He was touched to learn that she had tried to give Bothwell her wealth, and equally touched to learn that the great border lord had refused her. It was funny, thought Glenkirk, but had they not loved the same woman, he and Bothwell might have been friends. One thing he did not learn, however, was the truth about the paternity of the twins. Even in her great illness she protected her children.

Several days later she came to her senses again, and with a frightened gesture, clutched her belly.

“Dinna fear,” Glenkirk said harshly, “ye still hae yer bastard!” And he departed, leaving her in the care of her servants.

Cat was a tough creature, and she quickly regained her strength. Her color returned, and she grew sleek and plump with the passing weeks. She spent her time resting, and with her children. Only Bess was old enough to know that the child her mother carried was not her father’s, and Bess wanted no more wars with her mother. She made her peace with Cat by asking to be the child’s godmother, and Cat agreed, pleased. Bess had grown up.

Meg could say nothing to Cat, unwilling to choose sides between her stubborn son and her equally implacable daughter-in-law. They were both so proud. The dowager finally resolved her dilemma by going off to visit her youngest son and his wife for an indefinite stay.

The Earl of Glenkirk treated his wife with a cold courtesy. They were bound together by the church and by royal command. Cat responded in kind. It appeared an impossible situation.

In mid-August of 1595, the Countess of Glenkirk was delivered of her ninth child, a daughter. The following day she sat up in bed receiving her family. At her back were lace-edged pillows, and her tawny hair hung loose and shining about her shoulders. It was not until late afternoon that the Earl of Glenkirk visited his wife.

She had given up hope of his coming, and was alone nursing her daughter. He stood in the doorway of her bedroom watching her, and for a moment his eyes softened. Then she looked up, and their eyes met “May I come in, Cat?”

She nodded. Drawing up a chair by her bedside, he sat down and watched the child suck hungrily on the plump breast. Shortly the baby fell asleep, and before she could stop him, Glenkirk took the child from her. He cradled the infant in the crook of his arm, and looked down at it. It was pink-and-white, with a tiny heart-shaped face and damp auburn curls. Thick, dark eyelashes tipped in gold lay like half-moons on her cheeks. He had seen enough infants in his time to know that this one would be a great beauty.

“What will ye call her?” he asked.

“I had not thought on it yet,” she answered.

“Since she is probably the last child we will ever have, I should like to name her,” he said.

Her eyes widened in surprise. “What would ye call her?” she asked hesitantly.

“Frances,” he said quietly. “Frances Leslie is to be her name.”

For the briefest moment she did not believe she had heard him correctly, but his eyes were warm suddenly, and he smiled at her. “I will nae ask yer forgiveness, Cat, for what I did to ye cannot be erased, or forgotten. But I dinna want James Stewart to destroy us and our family as he destroyed Bothwell. I know ye’ll never love me again, but can we nae begin afresh, and be friends? I have never stopped loving ye, sweetheart, and I doubt I ever will.”

She drew a deep breath, and felt her heart swell until it ached. A hard lump rose in her throat and tears burned her eyelids. Reaching out, she took his free hand and pressed it to her cheek. Then she looked up at him, and her eyes were like emeralds. “Bothwell was right,” she said softly. “He said we would be safe wi ye.”

Glenkirk lay the sleeping child in her cradle and then, returning to his wife’s side, took both her hands in his. “I am a luckier man than he, sweetheart. I have been given a second chance.” He smiled again at her, and she tremulously returned the smile.

She would make her peace with him for her daughter’s sake, and because they would be safe with him. But no matter how long she lived she would not forget Francis Stewart-Hepburn, the great border lord, the uncrowned King of Scotland, and her beloved. He would always live fiercely in her secret heart.

C
ATRIONA Leslie sat quietly before her bedroom fire watching the dancing flames and trying to absorb the events of the past weeks. Her husband was dead, or so everyone assumed. She could not, however, imagine Patrick dead, nor did she feel he was. Still, she sighed, the facts seemed indisputable.

Eighteen months ago Patrick had sailed from Leith in a six-ship convoy aboard his flagship, the
Gallant James.
They were bound for the New World on a fur-buying expedition. It was a new venture in the Leslie interests, and the Earl of Glenkirk had gone along to be sure the new business would be successful.

In part Cat blamed herself for his departure. Though they had made their peace after Frances Anne’s birth, and there was no enmity between them, neither was there anything else. To all outward appearances the Earl and Countess of Glenkirk were an ideal couple. But Cat pined every waking moment for her exiled lover, the Earl of Bothwell. She said nothing, but Patrick Leslie knew, and continuously cursed himself for the supreme act of stupidity that had cost him his wife’s love.

For close to a year now the earl had toyed with the idea of mounting an expedition to the New World. Furs had always been an important part of European fashion, and the quality of skins beginning to trickle in from the New World was quite superior. “Why,” asked Patrick, “should our ships carry such valuable cargo for others when we can buy the furs ourselves and sell them in Europe ourselves?”

So it was decided that the first Leslie ships would leave in early spring of 1596, followed three months later by a second group, commanded by the earl’s brother, Adam Leslie. In the hope that his absence would give her time to heal and perhaps begin thinking of him in a more loving fashion, the Earl of Glenkirk chose to lead the expedition himself. Cat had even gone to Leith in the company of all their children to bid him a safe journey.

“I will bring ye back enough beaver to make a whole cloak,” he promised gaily. “Dark fur shows yer beauty to perfection.” And he kissed her tenderly.

“Go safely, Patrick, and return soon,” she answered him.

“Ye’ll be all right, Cat?”

She smiled up at him, and for a brief moment he saw her as she had been before life had hurt her so badly. “I’ll be fine, Glenkirk!” And the leaf-green eyes twinkled mischievously at him. “I am quite capable of being on my own—if ye call being wi nine bairns being alone!”

And they had parted. She had had no premonition of disaster, no premonition that she would never see him again. But six weeks ago, in mid-July of 1597, the second convoy of Leslie ships had returned to Leith heavy with a cargo of rich furs, and bringing also the terrible news. Adam Leslie, not even waiting to oversee the unloading, had spurred his horse cruelly to reach Glenkirk with the announcement that Patrick Leslie and his six ships had never reached their destination in the New World.

The king had quickly learned of the tragedy, and without consulting the Leslies, he declared young James Leslie the fifth Earl of Glenkirk. Cat was furious, though Glenkirk needed its lord. Once again James Stewart was interfering in her life. He had written to her this week that her mourning was not to exceed six months. She was to be back at court by spring.

His motive, couched in kindly rhetoric, made her laugh and swear alternately. The young earl was ordered to marry quickly to ensure the Glenkirk succession. Thank God, thought Cat to herself, that Patrick and I had the wit to betroth Jemmie to Isabelle Gordon two years ago—else King Jamie would interfere in that as well!

The king’s letter continued. Since Patrick’s mother, Meg, still lived, Glenkirk had the unusual distinction of having two dowager countesses. As the elder resided in the dower house, the younger must come to court so the young people might have their marital privacy, and so the older woman would not be disturbed.